Interdimensional
by Doctor Bosscus
Summary: When three worlds collide, its amazing who you can meet. Kenrick Harrison Frye, an Assassin; Micheal Jameson, A.K.A. Slipstream; and Rowe, true name unknown. Three different versions of the same person. The moment they meet, shit will go down. (Rated M for future reference. Also, do not, under any circumstances, even begin to expect regular updates. You have been warned.)


Chapter 1: Frye

This wasn't Frye's first bar brawl, but it was definitely the most difficult. Normally, he would have at least two other Assassins with him in case things got hairy. This time, however, the Council elected for Frye to take this mission alone, seeing as Frye was one of their most experienced Assassins. He didn't argue. He just quietly protested. It wasn't like he was facing an army by himself. Except that's about what happened.

When Frye entered the bar, he quickly scanned the area. He knew all the faces of the members of the Templar Order by heart. He had to, in case he ran into one in the street. The bar housed all kinds of types. Gruff looking men, guys in suits, average joes. Left to right he surveyed the room, looking for his intended target in the room packed full of people doing shots, downing whiskey like it was nothing.

He was about to turn around and leave until his Senses led him to a corner booth at which several Templars were sitting. Not lingering too long on one man, so as to not arouse suspicion, Frye walked calmly to the bar. He noticed several of the men looking at his general direction, and he instinctively prepared his right hand for a fight. However, his voice of reason implored him to observe his environment more closely. When he heard the sounds of a football game behind him, he relaxed a little.

"What can I get for you sir?" A cheerful voice asked. Frye glanced up from his thoughts to make eye contact with a happy looking woman donned in a pine-green apron with the bar's icon on it. A man in an orange jumpsuit waterfalling a mug of beer, encased in a light blue circle just big enough to surround the man.

"Virgin Mary." Frye said, calmly. When the bartender looked at him quizzically, he simply returned the look, with a hint of sarcasm in his eyes. He could tell this woman liked to laugh, so that's what he would incite. When she began to laugh lightly, Frye knew he had done right.

The bartender, attempting to stifle the laughter enough to speak, explained her reaction. "Sorry sir, it's just… Nobody ever orders the Virgin Mary."

"I gotta keep sharp." He said plainly. No need to reveal more than was necessary. Most people refused to believe the Brotherhood even existed, much less that one of them was among the citizens.

"I know that feeling." The bartender sympathized, jerking Frye out of his thoughts. As she continued to wipe the countertop, she leaned unsuspiciously toward Frye. He could feel her warm breath as she whispered in his ear, "You see them?" Frye slightly shifted his head enough to give her a confused glance.

"What are you talking about?" He inquired in a hushed tone. The Assassin Brotherhood had no single headquarters. Each city had its own Bureau, its own Council, its own Brotherhood. But one thing they all had in common: the Creed.

The Creed had three different sections; the Tenets, the Code, and the Creed itself. The Tenets of the Creed are as follows: Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent, Hide in plain sight, and Never compromise the Brotherhood. The Code of the Creed has many interpretations, but the most common one is "We are Assassins. We work in the dark to serve the light. Facilitate the fate of those who deserve to die. We are committed to the Creed to which we have submitted. Nothing is true, everything is permitted." Which leads directly into the Creed itself.

The Assassin that describes the Creed the best is Ezio Auditore da Firenze, from the Italian Renaissance. When Ezio was in his mid 50s-60s, he searched for the Keys of Masyaf to gain access to the Library of Altaïr. He took a woman he met in Constantinople; Sofia, to the Library. When she asked what the Creed was, Ezio said this to her, "It is an observation of the nature of reality. To say, 'nothing is true', is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile, and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization. To say, 'everything is permitted', is to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic."

The bartender nodded towards the Templars in the corner booth left of the door. "You didn't think I'd notice that tattoo on your right arm?" She said, hinting at the Insignia imprinted on his skin.

He instinctively pulled his sleeve down, not remembering until after that he was wearing his jacket. As realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, he motioned towards the back room.

"We should continue this conversation in private." He urged the bartender. She walked over to the latch preventing the collapsable counter serving as a door from falling. In one swift movement, she flipped the latch up, and grabbed the bar keys from her belt, which was hidden craftily under her apron.

"After you sir." She said politely. Frye was a man of respect, however, and he nodded carefully at her, signalling that she should enter first. As the woman entered the back room, Frye followed suit, remembering to lock the door back once he entered.

Once inside, he turned to the strange woman and glared at her with indifferent eyes and a stoic expression on his face.

"Who are you?" He asked, careful not to show suspicion. He knew so much about her just from those few minutes she served him.

"Guess. I'll give you three chances." She offered boastily, as if she knew she was under lock and key.

"I only need one." Frye assured. "I know you have the Eagle Vision, because you noticed my tattoo under my black coat. I know you are an overly optimistic person, judging by your seemingly natural demeanor. I know she was an enemy of the Templars, by your otherwise unnoticeable tone of disgust when you pointed out the booth. And I can guess that she was adopted." He didn't elaborate that last part, and it seemed to the bartender that he had fluked.

"How do you figure that last bit?" She asked, sure of his defeat. Little to her knowledge, however, Frye was wanting her to ask that question. He cracked a miniscule smile of victory, wiping the smug grin off of her face.

"The picture on the wall, above the Smirnoff. It's a picture of you and your parents at the Space Needle. The way you were positioned, combined with the age and the way the two older people had their arms positioned perfectly in such a way that they were hugging you and embracing each other makes the parent assumption a safe bet.

"However, the way they were leaning more towards each other and not towards you suggests either you were adopted or they didn't love you as much as they love each other. I can easily eliminate the latter, because their lower body position is in a more forward alignment, which means that they love you as if you were their own.

"An extra bit of evidence that solidifies the adoption theory is your facial features. If you were the product of John and Jane Doe over there, you would have slightly narrower eyes, a larger nose bridge, and a dimpled mouth. The possibility that you would inherit none of these traits is not small, assuming the traits you have were there in the first place."

Still intrigued as to how Frye knew so much that she never knew herself, the bartender implored him to continue. He explained that as the traits were extremely prominent in the older couple, they are more than likely the result of generations of dominant/dominant Punnett combinations. If she was indeed the byproduct of the two, she would have the same traits, no matter what.

When Frye finished explaining how he deduced how she was adopted, the bartender stood in awe, mouth agape in amazement.

"Wow." She managed to get out, her eyes wide with wonder. "Listen, not that I don't believe you, but I now have to ask my Mom and Pops if I was adopted. No wonder they say 'Frye is the Concord Bureau's best Assassin.' I'd stake my life that you're the best on the Eastern Seaboard."

Frye briefly flashed back to his mission 3 years ago in Baltimore. "Let's say I have some… Competition." Frye insinuated. "Now, if there's one thing I don't know, it's your name, and your relation to the Assassins." he said, nodding at the absence of a name tag on her apron.

"Oh, right!" The bartender exclaimed quietly. "My name is Ebilina Sayansky, Assassin in training for the Manhattan Bureau." She stood up straight and met Frye's eye, earning a shift in face contour, which a normal person would identify as a twitch. However, upon further inspection, it appeared to be a raised eyebrow of confusion.

"Was I not supposed to do that?" She inquired.

"It was less than necessary." Frye commented. He knew that certain Bureaus; Manhattan's included, taught their Recruits to stand at attention when in the presence of a Mentor, much like the military does with Officers of higher rank.

Ebilina relaxed nervously. It was clear she was new to field work. She lifted her left foot and twisted it back and forth, obviously uncomfortable. "Sorry, sir." She said, her voice quivering slightly. Frye noticed she wrapped her hands around her torso, a sign she was conflicted.

"Ok, look… Wait? Do you hear that?" Frye's attention snapped to the door. He concentrated his focus to his ears, able to hear even the slightest pin drop. He isolated the Templar booth, and heard shifting movement. They were moving.

"Son of a…" Frye began. "We wasted all our time! The Templars are leaving." He softly warned.

"There's still time!" Ebilina pointed out. "I still haven't taken them their bill. They always pay it!" At these words, Frye's mind started ticking. It was too crowded, so a frontal assault was out of the question. They already ate, so poison is futile. His only option at the time was to take out as many as he could quickly, and attack the rest.

"Let's move." He whispered. Ebilina stood confused as Frye walked out, left hand around his combat knife, and right hand at a 20-degree angle.

He walked up to the booth, calmly; steely. With a gaze that could freeze the core of the Earth, he drifted towards the Templars.

"Can I help you?" One of them, Jackson Bilge, remarked. His tone was that of one who believes themself "Higher than Thou." Frye couldn't stand it. His right arm jerked up, the back of his hand forming a 90-degree angle with the back of his arm, revealing a silver blade that slid out swiftly, piercing Bilge's neck through-and-through. All the while, his left arm swiped up equally as quick, sending a medium length combat knife into the heart of another Templar; Luiz Alcalde.

Ebilina, severely risking blowing her cover, ran in to help. She drew the knife that she kept behind the counter and leapt towards the fight. Two more Templars fell before they could comprehend what happened to their fallen comrades.

The final Templar put up a fight, literally. The moment he computed the severity of the situation, he called "Bar fight!" causing several of the drunks who hadn't cleared out to leap to action.

Ebilina readied her knife, but Frye steadied her.

"Stay your blade…"

"...from the flesh of the innocent, yeah." She holstered her knife and raised her fists. Utilizing Ebilina's intensive Manhattan training and Frye's extensive experience in the field, they fought their way through; although not easily.

While Ebilina honed in on one attacker at a time, Frye fought off several of the drunken men. Her method was to knock out each person, one at a time. However, it wasn't the best way to handle the situation. She stood face-to-face with a large Italian-looking man, easily possessing twice her muscle mass. He swung fast and strong, a deadly combination, but Ebilina used one of the glass shards on the floor to slice his knuckles, leaving him unable to hit nearly as hard.

All the while, Frye stood on the other side, ducking and dodging attacks while landing hits wherever he could get them. It was a useful method of attack, especially considering the condition of the aggressors. Their drunken stupor combined with Frye's rapid movements from behind them to the other side of the group left them dizzy and weak, allowing him to pummel them with speed and accuracy.

As Ebilina admired his outstanding technique and powerful punches, she failed to notice another man running up in her peripherals. She was too entranced by Frye to notice, and she would have been beaten to a pulpy mesh were it not for Frye running up and delivering a swift drop kick directly to the drunk's cranium.

"You need to pay attention in a fight." Frye advised, looking around the room distantly. "The slightest aversion of attention can be perilous."

Ebilina snapped out of her daze quickly and apologized for her mishap.

"Don't apologise to me. Apologize to yourself for risking failure." He said kindly, yet sternly.

"Sorry, self." She joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Frye chuckled sincerely without moving his face. It was impressive how a man can express a variety of emotions while keeping his expression extremely stoic.

"Ok, so now," He began, "We need to report to the Council here in Manhattan and give a briefing as to what happened."

Ebilina immediately started to object, obviously concerned. "But, can we alter some details!?" She protested quickly, "After all, it's my first field mission, and I don't want to be reassigned back to storage duty, because all the other recruits make fun of me because I got the lowest score on my projectile accuracy exam, an eighty-six, which isn't all that bad, but everyone else got a score in the 90s…" Frye interrupted her nervous rant to talk some sense into her.

"Calm down. Jesus, look. I'm honor bound to speak the truth unbiasedly, but I'll personally vouch for you to keep doing field assignments under my personal supervision. Sound good?"

Ebilina wrapped her arms around Frye. "Thank you." She said softly. Frye was not unused to women, and some men for that matter, giving him a friendly embrace as a form of gratitude. But this was different. He couldn't pinpoint exactly how he was feeling, but it was odd. It wasn't quite love, but not quite his usual unaffected emotion specific to him either.

"Now, where is the Bureau?" Frye asked in order to change the topic. "I've never been to Manhattan before."

"What!" Ebilina cried. "Okay, the Bureau can wait. Let me show you some of my favorite things to do in Manhattan!"

Frye shrugged indifferently, signalling for Ebilina to lead the way. As Ebilina squealed softly, Frye heard an odd noise. He shushed her so that he could listen more closely. It was a shimmering sound, not unlike a sound you would hear when you're near a hidden loot chest in an open-world video game.

"You hear that?" He asked Ebilina. As she shook her head no, she pointed out that her Eagle Senses hadn't fully honed in yet.

"Follow me." Frye ushered. He walked alertly to the back of the outside of the Bar, where he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

A light blue oval, similar to a trans-dimensional portal from CW's the Flash, with pulsating and swirling darker blue and purple streaks running through it. It was captivating. All of a sudden, Frye and Ebilina started to move forward slowly. But they weren't walking; rather, they were gliding forward, as if caught in a tractor beam.

"Frye!" Ebilina yelled, "What's happening?" She knew it was a cheap line, but she was at a loss for words.

"Your guess is as good as mine!" Frye screamed back. The last sounds they uttered reverberated through the air like an off-key flute. The portal collapsed in on itself, taking the Assassins with it.

Then, nothing but silence…


End file.
